by Olivia Gates
Four
“There’s no doubt, Ms. Sinclair.”
Naomi stared at the immaculate man, the regret on his face and in his voice making her heart give another painful thud against her ribs, before spiraling into her gut.
“Are you absolutely certain, Mr. Davidson?”
“Positive. Mr. Sarantos’s claim is far stronger. He has a bona fide will from Dorothea’s father, and you have nothing of equal strength in your favor. With his being who he is, no matter what you cite as your superior qualification as a parent or that you are her surrogate mother, his claim will have precedence. The one thing we could do is petition for you to remain a regular presence in the child’s life, but that would also be at Mr. Sarantos’s and the judge’s discretion. Though I have no doubt we would get you generous visitation rights, as I don’t see why Mr. Sarantos would contest them, since there’s no dispute as there would be in a custody case after a divorce.”
A scoff almost escaped Naomi. If only Mr. Davidson knew that with Andreas, anything was a dispute. He shredded his opponents on principle, even if he had nothing to gain by it. She had their divorce as solid proof of how vicious he could be, just because he could.
But her attorney had no idea, because he hadn’t handled her divorce battle with Andreas. His daughter, Amara, had. Amara had been a good friend before becoming an attorney, and Naomi had trusted her to keep the divorce proceedings a total secret. As Andreas’s own attorney had, since there hadn’t been a word about their marriage or its dissolution in any media outlet. Not that she was about to enlighten Mr. Davidson now. At this point she felt any more information might be fuel that would burn any bridges to having Dora in her life at all.
She let out a shaky exhalation. “So in a fight, I don’t stand a chance of keeping Dora?”
“As only her aunt, and with the will you describe, and with Mr. Sarantos’s enormous influence, regretfully, no.”
She’d already more than half known that, was here hoping against hope. Hearing the words still felt like a burning coal sliding down her throat.
Feeling she was pushing the lump of agony back out, she whispered, “Any advice?”
“Just this. Keep this out of court if you possibly can. Your best hope is not to antagonize Mr. Sarantos, but to appeal to him. His goodwill is all you can count on.”
* * *
In an hour’s time, she was staring in the mirror in her building’s elevator.
Her reflection looked worse than what had looked back at her after she’d left Andreas four years ago. Or even after Nadine’s death. Her complexion was mottled, the blue of her eyes was muddy, even the luster in her blond hair was gone. Two people who’d met her on the way from her attorney had been so alarmed they’d both thought she was ill. One had tried to convince her to let him take her to the emergency room.
The ping announcing her floor lurched through her, had her stumbling out of the elevator. At her apartment door, she stopped, her hand clenching the keys until it ached.
The delightful baby sounds coming from inside, which always lifted her heart even at its most leaden, only sank talons of misery in it now. It was unimaginable, unbearable, unsurvivable—the thought of losing Dora. A life without her constantly there, hers to love, to take care of and to worry about, wasn’t worth living.
Leaning her clammy forehead on the cool wood, Naomi drew in a ragged breath, trying to suppress the tears that threatened to pour. She had to get her act together, couldn’t walk in looking as if her world had ended. It had disturbed Dora when Naomi had been unable to control her anguish after Nadine’s death, and she’d been only seven months old then. Now she was much more aware, and supremely sensitive to moods. Whenever a wave of desolation swept Naomi, it got to Dora bad. She couldn’t expose her baby to her current condition.
God, this was all her fault. Everything had snowballed from the moment she’d allowed her desire for Andreas to overrule her logic and self-respect. And again, when she hadn’t escaped with minimum damage that first time she’d walked away.
But when he’d eventually come after her and offered what she’d thought impossible with him, marriage, she’d fallen back into his arms.
Unable to break her addiction to him, she’d accepted his stunted proposal. She’d convinced herself it had been as close to a confession of involvement as she could expect from him, and consented to his abnormal terms. She hadn’t even contested it when he’d stipulated their marriage would be a secret known only to them and Nadine and Petros, so his complicated business life wouldn’t invade his private one. Their so-called wedding day had consisted of signing a few papers, then a meal with her sister and his friend, which Andreas hadn’t even attended, having to leave before it started. Naomi hadn’t let herself mind, especially when the wedding night had dragged her back into the depths of delirium.
Afterward, he’d remained insatiable, but true to his terms. He’d kept their marriage a secret he guarded to the point of obsession. Rationalizing his behavior had become the basis of her thinking, believing that it was natural for him to protect his private life at all costs. But that would have made sense if said life actually included her. And it hadn’t.
Just like when they’d been only lovers, he hadn’t let her enter his inner world. He’d never taken her to his home. She’d never even found out if he’d had a place he called home. They’d met in hotels or rentals, he’d never joined her in her personal places or endeavors, and they’d never even gone out together. He’d kept her strictly out of everything he’d done, personal or professional, told her nothing of his past and never mentioned the future.
The sum total of mentioning his family had been to admit that the Aristedes Sarantos was his brother. It had been how she’d found out—from Aristedes’s scarce online info—that Andreas had a large family that included four sisters, with an assortment of nephews and nieces. He’d closed the subject of his family forever by claiming he had no relations with them whatsoever. While that seemed plausible, he might have said that just to end any possibility of her asking to meet them. Whatever the truth had been, she’d been certain of one thing. His family hadn’t known she existed. She’d been right.
But while she and Andreas had continued leading separate lives, except during the constant sex sessions he’d seemed as addicted to as she’d been, Nadine and Petros had become inseparable and had soon gotten married.
It had been the up-close example of their true intimacy and intense emotional bond that had broken the trance Naomi had placed herself in so she’d accept the conditions of her non-marriage to Andreas. Not that she’d given in easily. Whenever the need to share with Andreas something approaching what Nadine and Petros shared became unbearable, she’d reminded herself how different she and her sister were, how Andreas and Petros were opposites, and that their relationships were bound to be as dissimilar.
Then one day Nadine had told her of her and Petros’s failed efforts to conceive, and that they’d seek professional help. Later that night, Naomi had mentioned that to Andreas. She would never forget his reaction. He’d turned to her, colder than she’d ever seen him and said that if she thought relating that to imply it was time they had a baby, she could forget it. He was never having children.
His icy declaration had finally forced her to face the pathetic emptiness of their relationship. He’d underscored the fact that if she remained with him, she’d have nothing to look forward to but more of the same nothingness. And it had been her fault yet again. She should have known she wouldn’t be able to withstand that unnatural arrangement with the emotionally aberrant man that he was for long, let alone forever. Not only hadn’t there been any hope for anything more between them, they’d never had anything to start with. She’d never felt like his wife, and he’d certainly been no husband to her. Apart from being his “sexual habit,” she hadn’t existed to him.
Next d
ay she’d asked him for a divorce. Thinking he’d be as nonreactive as he’d been the first time she’d tried to end their liaison, she’d been shocked by his fury. He’d seethed, saying that he wouldn’t be coerced into giving her what she wanted. Her anger had risen to match his. What had he thought she wanted? A real marriage, God forbid? He’d retorted that she’d known exactly what to expect, and she’d agreed. She wouldn’t make him the villain.
Heart breaking, she’d asked for one thing, the first and last thing she’d ever ask from him. A quick and hassle-free divorce, to end what they should never have started.
When he’d again watched her leave in silence, she’d been certain he wouldn’t come after her this time. And he hadn’t. He’d just sent his legal hound to snap at her feet and drag her through six months of struggle and anxiety before he’d deigned to let her go.
If it weren’t for her pursuing Andreas in the first place, then going back for more when she should have run, Nadine wouldn’t have met Petros. None of the chain reaction of catastrophes ending in the current one would have occurred.
But then, Dora wouldn’t have come into existence, either. And for her alone, Naomi would never wish anything different.
Now she had to figure out how to keep her from Andreas’s cold grasp.
Straightening, she filled her lungs with air. The plunge into the past, as mortifying and self-condemning as it had been, had had a good side effect. It had driven away her desperation, dried her eyes and steadied her nerves.
After another bracing breath, she walked into her apartment.
Entering the family room where Andreas’s echoes still lingered, she found Dora sitting on the floor by her playpen, playing catch-whatever-I-throw-to-you with Hannah. Loki and Thor, their mink and flame point Ragdoll cats, were curled up on the couch, watching them.
Though Naomi’s feet made no sound on the plush carpeting she’d installed throughout the apartment in time for Dora’s very active crawling phase, the baby turned around as soon as she walked in. And Naomi’s lungs emptied once again.
Meeting Dora’s sky-blue eyes across the distance, imagining again she was looking into Nadine’s, would have been enough to knock the breath out of her. But the instant delight, the total trust and dependence she saw in them overwhelmed her barely restored control. Tears stung her eyes as Dora let out a squeal, threw down her toys and scooted on all fours toward her. The cats followed at a slower strut.
“Darling, oh my darling...”
The all-encompassing love she felt for Dora, the baby she’d carried for nine months in her womb, whose heartbeats and kicks she’d felt inside her own body, who’d been the focus of her life since her first wail, and who was all that remained of her beloved Nadine, came pouring out. She rushed to snatch her up, fiercely hugging her precious body.
Dora squealed as her plump arms grasped her neck, her face mashing into her shoulder.
Naomi buried her own face in the raven silk of Dora’s hair, inhaling the sweetness of her baby scent, her heart trembling with the totality of emotions she felt for her.
After giving them time to enjoy their tête-a-tête, Hannah rose from the floor, her smile wide...until she met Naomi’s eyes.
Her smile faltering, Hannah injected her voice with brightness for Dora’s sensitive ears, even when her words were anxious. “What’s wrong, Naomi? Did something happen at work?” Then she seemed to make the connection. “Is it something to do with Mr. Sarantos’s visit yesterday?”
Naomi debated telling her the truth, and decided against it. No point upsetting Hannah, too, when there was nothing she could do about it but fret sooner than she had to.
Trying to clear the anguish from her expression, she attempted a smile. “It’s just that seeing him seemed to rewind everything...the accident, their deaths. Made me feel it all just happened.”
Hannah sighed, caressing Naomi’s back soothingly. “It will keep creeping up on you, for years. Sometimes it will come out of the blue, but mostly it will be seeing people or things or places that you associate with Nadine or Petros that will trigger it. But from my experience with losing loved ones, especially after my Ralph’s death, I can assure you it will get better with time. And one day the good memories will become stronger, will be what come to you when you think of Nadine, making you happy to remember.”
Naomi’s smile almost shattered as she nodded, fondling and cooing to Dora. Dora cooperated for a minute more before she started wriggling, demanding to be put down. With one last kiss and nuzzle of her downy cheek, Naomi obliged.
Once on the ground, Dora zoomed away with the utmost zeal and determination, the cats in tow. She stopped after a few feet, sat back to check that Naomi was following, too, her chubby hand opening and closing, demanding she hurry.
A laugh bubbled out of Naomi at the baby’s earnest expression. Dora took playing very seriously indeed.
She rushed to obey her imperative demand, and for the next two hours, she reveled in all the things that were now the center of her universe, its emotional glue—the play, feeding and bath time with Dora.
After putting her down to sleep at eight, Naomi declined Hannah’s offer of watching a movie on the grounds that she had work to finish, and entered her study. She sat at her desk, staring into nothingness for what felt like an hour, her attorney’s words echoing in her head.
Your best hope is not to antagonize Mr. Sarantos, but to appeal to him. His goodwill is all you can count on.
It was way too late for that advice. She’d already antagonized Andreas and then some. And appeal to his goodwill? If this was all she could count on, then she was doomed.
An unstoppable impulse had her reaching for her cell phone, keying in his number. It might not be working after all these years, but it was the only one she’d ever had for him.
“Naomi.”
His deep, electrifying voice poured right into her brain after a single ring.
How did he know it was her? Her number was new, and only the people closest to her knew it.
But why was she even wondering? There was probably nothing about her that he didn’t know.
God. Why had she called him? She should hang up, bundle up Dora and Hannah and board the first flight to anywhere. Disappear until he got bored again, and just let them be.
Yeah, right. As if he ever let anything go without first sucking it dry of whatever he wanted. Only then would he let go. He’d move on, like a hurricane always did, only after it had destroyed everything.
“You can call back when you’re ready to talk.”
His patient suggestion zapped through her, sparking her ire. “Sorry if I’m interrupting something important.”
As soon as she said that, the malignant images assailed her again, as they had since she’d left him. Images of Andreas with other women...
“I am actually between important things.”
Which could mean he was between a brunette and a redhead.
After all, he’d once admitted that, before her, he’d never been attracted to blondes.
Not that she thought he was in a babe sandwich right now. He would have told her if he were. He was just being himself, the man who’d never offer gallantries, such as claiming that nothing was more important than her.
But knowing he’d always hit her with the truth in its most unadorned form was what made her despair. He said nothing he didn’t mean. If he said he’d take Dora away, he would.
“I was heading for the shower,” he explained.
“Then by all means.” She barely stopped from suggesting he instead fill the tub...and drown in it.
Another patient sound poured into her ear, something that resembled a sigh. “I can stay on the line until you decide to tell me why you called.”
The forbearance in his voice snapped the last thread of control. “I called to
tell you that you are a monster, Andreas. And don’t tell me it’s my prerogative to see you as I please. This is not a point of view, this is a fact.”
She could almost see him incline his head in assent. “As you wish. Anything else?”
So much crowded inside her, protests, pleas, scalding invective. Out loud she found herself saying, “So where are you holed up on your victorious return to New York?”
“You know where I am.”
Suddenly, she was certain she did know. The Plaza.
Their first night had been all over the royal suite there. The memories of that transfiguring night had been why she’d once intimated she preferred its ambience to all hotels. They’d met there whenever he was in downtown New York from then on, even when she’d insisted the place was too expensive, too much for only them. He’d disregarded her protests. Later, she’d found he owned a big chunk of the hotel and paid nothing. She would have appreciated the explanation, so she wouldn’t have felt so wasteful. As always, she hadn’t warranted one.
Not that he could be there for sentimental reasons. It was most probably for the anonymity the establishment had always been eager to provide him.
“Still there as Thomas Adler or Jared Mathis or one of the other aliases you parade under?” she asked.
When she’d discovered his pseudonymous activities, he’d briefly explained that while people unavoidably recognized him in public, he made sure no one could trace his whereabouts. Such meticulous evasions had never made sense to her. She would have understood his obsessive security measures, if he didn’t walk around without any.
“I’m here as myself.”
The unexpected response skewered through her heart.
If security had ever been the motive, he was an even bigger target now, being so much richer and more successful and having far more enemies. That left her old suspicions as the only explanation. All that secrecy had been on her account. So no one would associate him with her. He’d never wanted a wife or even a steady lover, and he’d gone the extra thousand miles so it wouldn’t be known he’d had either, keeping his image as an icy womanizer untarnished.
